


In Over Her Head

by stayneurotic



Series: Keevan and the Spy [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blood and Gore, Deepthroating, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Masochism, Mind Games, Multi, Objectification, Sadism, Sexual Violence, Traumatic Bonding, Violence, Vomiting, tokophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayneurotic/pseuds/stayneurotic
Summary: Adjusting to life as a prisoner, Vera bites off more than she can chew.
Relationships: Keevan/Remata'Klan/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Keevan and the Spy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197533
Comments: 7
Kudos: 4





	In Over Her Head

The pain had not ended when Keevan left Vera's presence. Though she wanted nothing more than to collapse in exhaustion upon reaching her cell, she fought through her instincts and attended her wound first – grinding her teeth and hissing in pain and cursing every sailor’s curse she knew as the soap lit her lacerations on fire. Finally, shoulder throbbing as painfully as it had when he’d first dug the knife in, she set to work ridding herself of all the bodily fluids coating her skin and still dripping from her orifices. Though, afterwards, she somehow didn't feel any more clean.

She re-clothed her lower half, but pulling her bra and top on proved too painful – and, anyway, the wound needed to breathe. Keeping her back carefully turned to the Jem’Hadar guards who had so hungrily gazed at her earlier, she lay across the cot a boneless heap and attempted to rest.

Thoroughly exhausted as she was, sleep didn’t come easily. For some time Vera lay awake, her mind helplessly replaying the night’s events. Like a broken record looping over and over, she switched between examining where exactly she had gone wrong and how she could have avoided all this – chasing away phantom sensations as she flashed back to Keevan’s tongue between her thighs, his cock sliding into her, his knife slicing into her back – and assaulting herself with shame and derision for managing to have what she now realized were the three most intense orgasms of her life, despite the pain, despite the abuse, despite the wrongness of it all. Or maybe because of it.

She worried about the fact that two aliens had come inside her, knowing she’d made incorrect assumptions about their libido before and wondering now if her assumptions about their reproductive ability (or lack thereof) could be wrong as well. She fantasized about breaking free from this prison, snapping Keevan’s neck between her thighs, enlisting Remata’Klan’s help to locate her ship and whisking them both away to Federation space.

Finally, mercifully, sleep took her. But when it did, it was fitful and fleeting. She dreamt of dark, predatory eyes watching her from the shadows. She dreamt of an alien parasite burrowing into her womb and sucking her dry. She dreamt of countless clawed hands grasping at her, invading every orifice, tearing into her flesh. She awoke with gasps and jolts and cringed each time as the sudden movements pulled painfully at her wound and yanked her into abrupt consciousness, then lay awake hours longer, praying to gods she didn’t believe in for respite.

She wasn’t certain how much time was passing. Between fits of dozing and lying awake or pacing the cell with her thoughts consuming her, Vera had no way of marking the hour. But the growing emptiness in her stomach was beginning to make the thought of even a nutrient pack seem appealing, and at _that_ notion she knew it had to have been bordering on at least a full day.

Hoping to try and regain some minute amount of rest for the coming ordeals and looking for a reprieve from her gnawing hunger, she laid down to sleep once again, bare back displaying her brand perfectly to the exterior wall of the cell. Vera was typically an extremely light sleeper and quite used to grabbing it wherever and whenever she could, but her nightmares and physical weakness dragged her deeper down as she began to slip into unconsciousness once more, and for that reason the sound of approaching footsteps did not cause her to stir.

* * *

Keevan stepped into the security holding block and headed straight to the only occupied cell, as evidenced by the two Jem’Hadar guards standing in front of the raised force field. The Vorta was in a fantastic mood.

The sight of Vera lying there facing the wall, folded in on herself, her wounded back on display – could only be described as pitiful. Just what he was hoping to see. While they were apart, Keevan had done a lot of thinking as to what else he wanted to do to her. So many things, so little time. Which is why he called in a couple favors to make sure nobody questions why he chose to plot a course to the furthest interrogation facility in the sector instead of the one located close-by. If he played his cards right, it promised at least a couple week long trip, not to mention possible detours to replenish stocks of Ketracel-white, or what have you. Keevan had to admit that it was rather a lot of trouble to go to for an additional week or so of screwing a human, no matter how attractive they were. But he couldn’t help himself – there was just _something_ about her, her stubborn will that he knew she still possessed and that he desperately wanted to break. Not the interrogators. _Him._

But first, he had to make sure she didn’t expire before he could accomplish that. Now that he had a personal interest, Keevan took the time to review the Dominion’s data on humans with more attention than he originally did. Pathetic as they were, they could apparently die from the simplest things, such as sepsis. The antibiotic hypospray they recovered from her shuttle should take care of that, but the state of her wound unfortunately also meant that he’d have to use a dermal regenerator. On a lowest setting, the tissue would scar just like he intended. After all, he didn’t want her too distracted by the physical pain - not from the _old_ wounds, that is. Keevan thoughtfully thrummed his fingers on the small medical case he brought with him.

Another thing he was reminded of during his research was human reproduction. The manner of it wasn’t unique to terrans, of course, or even to the Alpha Quadrant really. The curious part was that, from the data available, it appeared that humans had a special propensity to create offspring with other races. Like many of the Vorta, Keevan both looked down on the concept of natural procreation and was fascinated by it. To leave a part of oneself in someone else's body and let it grow. Claim them, in a way. The idea was primitive, but also strangely appealing. Regardless, it was a useless train of thought, as such a thing wasn't within the realm of possibility for him...but Vera was likely unaware of that fact. _Delightful_ _,_ he thought, _yet another thing to hold over her head._

Buzzing with malicious enthusiasm, he deactivated the force field and approached her sleeping form, lowering himself onto the edge of her cot. Up close, she looked even more miserable. Dark circles under her eyes, even darker bruises on her upper arms and thighs, and especially vivid reddish-purple ones on her neck. Even unconscious, her face was marred by a distressed frown. Stress, pain and hunger must have left her exhausted; Keevan wondered if she’d be more yielding in this weakened state. But of course, he didn’t plan on starving her to death – he even brought a little box of replicated rippleberries to feed her. It would be nice to taste them on her lips later.

Vera’s slumber seemed very deep indeed, and it was giving Keevan ideas. Humans should be susceptible to all kinds of substances, he knew – in fact, some of them were routinely used in interrogations, to suppress the will and lower the mental walls. There were also ways to temporarily weaken the muscles almost to the point of paralysis, with the subject fully aware of what’s happening to them, of their total vulnerability. He could have her, just like this, unable to even struggle as he forces orgasm upon unwilling orgasm out of her. Keevan made a mental note to look into that later. Meanwhile, he brushed his fingers gently over Vera’s shoulder, looking forward to her expression upon seeing his face.

* * *

Though the sound of Keevan's approach and the shifting of his weight onto the cot beside Vera did not rouse her, the touch over her bare shoulder certainly did. At first it seemed a part of her dream; the gentle caress, in her mind, could only belong to the Jem’Hadar who’d treated her with such tenderness during her ordeal, who’d saved her from falling too far into the depths of her despair. So as her mind conjured up Remata’Klan’s image she stirred, shifted, nearly smiled; after a moment her slumbering brain realized the touch was quite real and struggled to drag her back to consciousness as quickly as possible.

Reactions sluggish as she became aware she was awake and fought to gain her bearings, Vera groaned and turned her face first into the mattress – then, with a start, snapped open her eyes to meet those of the man she suddenly realized was sitting beside her, who was very much not Remata’Klan.

There was no hiding the dread that descended on her expression. Instinctively she yanked her shoulder away – and hissed in pain. Right. The wound. Thoroughly conscious now and full of resentment, anger and fear at whatever horrors her abuser had in mind for this second meeting, Vera cast her eyes downward, self-consciously covering her chest with one arm as she pushed herself to sit upright. Her head swam, an effect of the hunger, blood loss and lack of proper rest; her voice drawled as she spoke, thick with sleep and teeming with anxiety despite her deadpan snark.

“Nice of you to finally drop by.”

Rather than meet Keevan’s eyes again, she took stock of what he’d brought with him. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was the medical kit from her shuttle – a good sign, a _very_ good one if he intended to heal her, mortifying as such an act might be – and another smaller, unidentifiable box, the contents of which she couldn’t hope to guess at.

* * *

“Missed me, did you?” Keevan flashed her a bright – and completely genuine – smile, although the reasons behind it Vera likely wouldn’t appreciate. Her biting reply was a confirmation of what he already knew – she still had her fighting spirit. He had his work cut out for him.

“I hope you had a good rest, because we’ll be leaving very soon, and I’m afraid the accommodations on the ship are far less comfortable.” His gaze fell to Vera’s arm protecting her modesty. “Oh come now, it’s a little late to get shy, don’t you think? I seem to remember telling you what will happen if you do this.” He kept his voice soft and pleasant, giving Vera an opportunity to correct her attitude but already anticipating having to remind her of her place in a harsher manner. “Or is it your way of asking to get tied up?” Keevan slid closer to her, raising his arm to carefully brush her hair away from her shoulder to admire the roadmap of brightly-colored hickeys leading from her neck down to her breasts where it disappeared under her protective forearm. “I think I will oblige, but not right now.” He tapped the tip of her nose lightly, the playful gesture belying a very real promise.

“First, why don’t you turn around and show me your back? Tell me, does it hurt?”

* * *

We’ll _be leaving? So he plans to deliver me to the interrogators himself. Of course._ Just the mere thought exhausted Vera. There was no way to know how long this journey would take, how long she’d have to endure being at Keevan’s mercy. It had taken no small amount of strength to get through the previous night, but it appeared that had only been the beginning.

Weariness showing in her posture, she averted her eyes and scowled through his taunting. The more he drew attention to her nudeness, the more self-conscious she felt and the deeper she blushed. It seemed odd, in a coldly logical way, to feel so embarrassed after the ways they’d tangled last night, but her current state of mind defied logic. She was reactive, jittery, almost animalistic: a far cry from her usual calculating mind. Despite wanting to stand her ground against Keevan, she couldn’t stop herself leaning away as he sidled closer and flinching at his touch, so deceptively light it sent shivers down her spine.

She didn’t see the point in lowering her arm if he was simply going to tie her up anyway, but his command (phrased coyly as a request) gave her something of an out. Reluctantly lowering her arm from her chest to convey her obedience, little as it meant, she glanced up with baleful eyes to meet Keevan’s gaze before turning and offering him her back.

“What do _you_ think?” she muttered bitterly.

* * *

Coupled with a scared twitch and the refusal to meet his eyes for longer than a second, her words sounded more pathetic than defiant. It was almost cute. Learned helplessness was supposed to be exactly that – learned – and having taught it to many others, Keevan was quite confident in his ability. So far Vera was proving to be a wonderful pupil.

“Oh, you poor thing.” He put his palm on her uninjured shoulder, massaging her tense muscles for a few seconds, then switching to languid strokes up and down her back. All the while, his eyes were glued to the stark vermillion Tchemaro branded into her skin – the lines now inflamed, crusted with dried blood, weeping clear lymphatic fluid in places where her movements aggravated the cuts. It certainly _looked_ painful. His hand on Vera’s spine slid up to the back of her neck and took it in a firm grip as Keevan leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“You do realize it only happened because you were being difficult?” He let the assertion sink in while his other hand brushed close to the lower edge of her wound. Then, he suddenly moved it up and dug his thumb firmly into the injury, his unyielding hold on Vera’s neck preventing her from struggling away. The wounded tissue was sticky and hot to the touch, tempting him to press harder.

After a few beats he removed his finger from the cut.

“All you have to do is behave like a good girl – but you keep making things harder on yourself instead.” His voice dipped low on the last sentence, oozing salacious intent and utter enjoyment of her misery.

One slow deep inhale later the Vorta abruptly let go of her and turned to retrieve the medical paraphernalia from the kit.

“Luckily for you, I’m in a good mood tonight.” He pressed the hypospray to the side of her neck and injected the medicine. Next, it was the turn of the dermal regenerator. “Try not to move too much.” Keevan smirked, remembering the similar phrase he used before giving her this very brand.

* * *

Vera didn’t fall for his caresses for an instant; she knew they were devoid of any crumb of kindness, a simple ruse designed to disarm her. It was the oldest trick in the book. And yet – and yet – in her vulnerable, frightened state, filled with horror for the trials to come and desperate for even the slightest morsel of reassurance, she found herself closing her eyes and relishing the movements of his hand like the calm before the storm.

Then, the grip around her neck. And she tensed in knowledge of what was coming.

But the words Keevan whispered in her ear sunk their claws in deep, stealing her attention, and Vera paused, horrified, wondering for a split second whether this was another of his games or if she really _could_ have prevented the searing agony that had woken her from needed sleep with every shift, twitch and throb throughout the night, that would linger in phantom aches long after she had removed the physical scars, that had so deeply and inextricably entwined pain with pleasure in her psyche–

–that was currently screaming into her shoulder again, worse than the initial lacerations, white-hot and blinding in its deep and focused intensity. A choked gasp forced its way from her throat, followed by the deep, guttural pained growls of a wounded animal, untamed in volume and filled with fury; her hands dug white-knuckled into the fabric of the cot while her back twisted desperately away from the invading hand as best it could beneath Keevan’s hold. Every millisecond stretched into an eternity.

Then Keevan’s thumb had lifted and she could breathe again.

His next words registered only vacantly at first, her attention stolen by the acute throbbing of her violated injury and the feeling of warm blood oozing freshly down her skin. As they began to sink in, however, Vera found herself thinking, just for a _split_ second, that it might be easier to play along, that she could end this nightmare faster, with less pain, with fewer scars if she just gave in and obeyed Keevan like the slave he wanted her to be–

 _No,_ she told herself. _It won’t help. You can’t please him. You can’t change this. Just endure._

She squeezed her eyes shut. 

The sensations of the hypospray in her neck and the regenerator stitching her flesh closed were quite distant at the very vivid memory that sprang to mind the moment that _deja-vu_ phrase left Keevan’s lips. All at once she could practically feel him again, stabbing into her sweet spot with every slice of the knife and then drawing languorously back, his movements controlled, precise, hellish, divine.

A very deep, shameful part of Vera stirred in excitement at the thought that she was about to experience them again.

She wanted to cry. She didn’t – would never allow herself to, in front of this man – but she could not suppress the slight tremble of her shoulders or the blush of shame across her face. The latter she obscured with her hair by bowing her head forward, but the former she knew would catch Keevan’s attention. She prayed he would elect not to comment; she had no defense.

* * *

Keeping the dermal regenerator at the sufficient distance to heal yet not remove the scarring was a rather tricky balancing act but he managed well enough. Soon, the cuts stitched themselves together, forming the slightly raised white lines of the symbol. The skin around it didn’t heal completely – but even slightly pink and irritated as it looked, it was a far cry from the way it was not a moment ago. _It must be quite sensitive now,_ Keevan imagined. He couldn’t help lowering his mouth to the tender spot and placing a lingering kiss there. Naturally, he noticed the subtle tremble of her shoulders – read it as a sign of her weakening will, crumbling under the amount of effort it took to keep her resolve. The intuition told him to keep pressing the advantage.

A bit of rearranging their positions later, he was sitting fully on the cot, his back leaned on the wall at the head of it, and Vera’s pressed to his chest as she sat between his legs. Unsurprisingly, she was quite tense, but judging from her previous reactions, Keevan was counting on her relaxing sooner or later. She needed an incentive to yield to him, to know that he could not only dispense punishment but also offer an occasional reward for good behavior. He reached down to grab the second box he brought, opening it on Vera’s lap and reaching in to take a plump dark-red berry between his fingers.

“This,” he said, “is a rippleberry. They grow on the Vorta homeworld. I thought you might like to try one, they’re quite good.”

At this, he brought it up to Vera’s lips.

* * *

Vera had expected her next meal to come in the form of a tray thrown uncaringly to the ground, perhaps full of things a human might not be eager to eat. Or maybe some kind of ration pack or nutrient gel. Something unkind. An afterthought.

She was wholly unprepared for _this._

Being within Keevan’s embrace like this – her bare back against his chest, his legs on either side of her, his arms coming around to manipulate the box he placed in her lap – made her feel as though she were sitting squarely in the jaw of a lion, waiting for his fangs to snap shut. Every muscle taut, she kept her arms folded pointedly below her breasts, fighting to will away the dark blush spreading down her neck.

And then the fresh scent of something sweet and fruity wafted from the opened box, and her attention snagged. Even without a day’s starvation, the sight of the berry would have made her mouth water; as it was Vera became simultaneously very intently focused on it and repulsed by what it represented.

 _Especially_ as he tried to feed it to her.

Her stubborn lips rebelled at first, pursing shut, but after a moment her indignant resistance paled in comparison to the temptation of finally getting to eat despite this small humiliation and, reluctantly, she acceded and allowed him to place the berry on her tongue, his fingers brushing her lips as they departed.

At the first hint of pressure the taut skin burst in her mouth, and the plump flesh of the fruit flooded her tastebuds with the sweetest juice she’d ever tasted. It was almost overwhelming in its intensity and she pulled a slight face, acclimating to the cloying sweetness. It might be better watered down, she thought, but it was still unlike any fruit she’d eaten before and refreshingly tasty, especially after her involuntary fast.

“It’s...very sweet,” Vera said, not really willing to admit she liked it. Then, remembering suddenly, she turned her head inquisitively toward Keevan’s, momentary curiosity distracting her from her current peril and in doing so emboldening her. “Don’t Vorta lack the ability to taste?”

* * *

He counted Vera’s wordless acquiescence as a small victory. For once, she didn’t need to be threatened into accomplishing what he wanted from her, minor as it might have been. The hunger helped, no doubt, but a single day without food couldn’t have made someone like her all that compliant. His plan was working.

Even more curious was the blush spreading over her features. The humiliation at her own vulnerability, perhaps? The anticipation of the things to come? In his experience, the type of extreme agony he just caused her tended to dampen the arousal in most people. Unless he was even more successful in his efforts than he had hoped and the neural connections in her brain between the feelings of pain and pleasure were already becoming interlinked. His qitha gave a delicious twitch at the notion of reinforcing those connections.

Vera’s question mildly surprised Keevan. So she did know _something_ about the Vorta. Considering the relative insignificance of the tidbit, he decided there was no harm in humoring her curiosity. He _was_ trying to lower her defenses, after all.

"For the most part, yes,” he replied. “We are afforded the luxury of being able to taste only two things - these berries and a certain type of nuts also native to Kurill Prime."

Keevan didn't bother to hide the hint of cold bitterness in his voice. She could draw whatever conclusions she wanted from his tone, it wasn't like it ultimately mattered what she might think. It was what it was. His constant simmering disdain for the Founders notwithstanding, he focused his attention back on Vera, observing her curious expression impassively. His eyes were drawn to her lips, subtly tinted with berry juice, and he used the tips of his fingers to tilt her face higher so he could lean down and trace her lower lip with his tongue. Lingering only a hair's breadth away, he murmured against her lips.

"It _is_ very sweet. More?”

* * *

 _Nuts and berries,_ she thought curiously. _Like forest foragers. I suppose they used to be primates, like us._ But the hint of bitterness and the sarcastic phrasing Keevan used diverted her attention from that particular train of thought, and for a moment she studied him closely, everything feeling as though suddenly it was clicking into place. 

_This isn’t just Dominion brutality. He’s_ defective. _Resentment at the Founders, his psychopathy...probably his libido, too._

Inwardly, she sighed. All the facilities she could have infiltrated, and yet the one she chose just so happened to have _this_ Vorta in charge.

_Just my fucking luck._

And then that Vorta’s tongue sent a shock of electricity straight to Vera’s core as it traced along her lip, and her mind went completely blank. Attempts to grasp onto any higher level of thinking proved futile as he continued to hover a hair’s breadth away, and despite the anger and revulsion and indignation simmering like hot coals within her, everything in Vera’s being ached to lean forward and close that tiny distance.

 _Damn him._ Damn _him!_ Why couldn’t she just be disgusted with him and leave it at that? Why couldn’t her anger and pain supercede her attraction to this vile, evil creature, who delighted in tormenting, abusing, raping her? It would have been far easier if he just hit her – treated her like scum from the get-go. But instead he had to muddle her unconscious mind with gentle touches and duplicitous sweetness, and no matter how well she knew the manipulative intent behind them, her body reacted just the same.

The only outward signs, at the moment, of that physical reaction were the breath she sucked in and held as Keevan hovered close, the goosebumps spreading down her shoulders and chest, and the subtle tightening of her rosewood-blushed nipples – which she hid once more behind crossed arms, pushing her luck. Torn between wanting to recoil and wanting to kiss him, Vera remained frozen in place, letting the question linger as she considered her options.

She knew he wanted to hear a “please” out of her. He could very easily retaliate – take her paltry meal away, rescind his soft touches and casual conversation, inflict more pain. But, she thought, steeling herself, she’d be damned if she was going to give it to him that easily.

“That would be nice.”

Leaning away from his lips, she put enough distance between them to look him in the eye, her gaze hard with renewed determination to ignore her own unwelcome desire.

“But I _am_ more than capable of feeding myself, you know.”

Tensing slightly, she anticipated the snapping shut of the lion’s jaws around her.

* * *

Two steps forward, one step back. Maybe he was a bit too optimistic about Vera's progress. Although her standoffish reaction was hardly a surprise, Keevan was not prepared for the wave of anger it provoked in him. She seemed so close to submitting he could almost taste it, but at the last moment she pulled back, little fucking tease. He was sorely tempted to swipe the box to the floor, push her face into the thin bedding and take out his frustrations on her then and there. But losing his composure like that would be a huge mistake - it would make him look weak, and the moral victory would embolden her even more.

Careful not to betray his true reaction, Keevan put on an air of mocking disappointment, tutting condescendingly at her protectively raised arms.

"Of course you are," he said airily and moved her body down the length of the cot to free his legs and get up. "We wouldn't want you to do anything you didn't enjoy."

The sarcasm positively dripped from his words as he looked down at her, the welcome sight of her tensing in fear of the unknown placating his contained fury somewhat.

"Go ahead and finish them while I go get something. Don't worry, I won't be long." He took a couple steps towards the exit before pausing and looking back at Vera over his shoulder. "Oh, and you might want to remove the rest of your clothes before I return. If I have to do it for you, you're not getting them back."

* * *

_Fuck._

Dread settled in Vera’s stomach as she realized what she’d done to herself; she suspected these were the last few moments she’d have to enjoy the use of her hands. Still, she’d expected a harsher reaction – and though Keevan’s calm and even disappointment unsettled her deeply, it was preferable to more violence.

 _I’ll have droves of that soon enough,_ she reminded herself, staring morosely down at the box of berries in her lap once Keevan had walked away. Bitterly, she shoved a handful in her mouth, the sweetness of the fruit contrasting with the anxiety welling within her, and quickly finishing the meal (which was rather insufficient to build up her strength in any way), Vera stood to remove the rest of her clothing.

The cell was somewhat chilly, and as she sat back against the wall and awaited her torturer’s return, she drew up her knees to her chest, ankles crossed over her mara to protect what little modesty remained. Goosebumps peppered her skin; wild eyes remained locked on the door between the two Jem’Hadar guards, ready to meet Keevan’s with defiance.

* * *

Walking briskly to the nearest replicator, Keevan debated his next steps. He hadn't predicted having to use a rope so soon, but he certainly wasn't complaining. Even through his irritation, he could appreciate the burning desire Vera invariably managed to spark with her defiance. The memory of her tight walls and desperate cries made his blood pump faster.

Having acquired a sturdy nylon rope, he suddenly got another idea. The next guard rotation would come soon; perhaps it was time to put Remata'Klan on guard duty. Keevan made sure to keep him away from the holding cells for the time being, but now his presence might prove entertaining. On the way back he contacted his unit and informed them of the change in their schedule.

Upon returning, he was pleased to see that Vera heeded his advice. Of course, he didn't leave her much of a choice. Still.

"Stand," he ordered without further ado.

Once she'd reluctantly obeyed, he arranged her forearms behind her back, each hand touching an opposite elbow, and tied them together with practiced ease.

"As you can see, I deliver on my promises." He admired the view for a few seconds, before walking around her to look her in the eyes.

"But, because you clearly have trouble grasping the consequences of your actions, I want you to say it out loud. Maybe it will finally sink in that way. Say _'I deserve to be punished.'"_

Anticipating a rash reaction, Keevan swiftly brought his hand up and pressed his palm over her mouth. His voice was measured and smooth, but his eyes glinted with the beginnings of the same madness that gripped him the day before.

"And before your mouth runs away with you and you make your situation unnecessarily worse, I urge you to think carefully. My patience is not unlimited. Surely you're not naïve enough to think that what happened yesterday is the worst I can do." His free hand came to rest on her shoulder, the middle finger drawing deliberate circles over her new scar.

"Then again, we both know you enjoyed it, so by all means, keep testing me. I'm sure it will make my Jem'Hadar very happy, all fourteen of them." He paused, taking in the dawning comprehension in her eyes. "Even Remata'Klan, once he witnesses you turn into a brainless doll only fit to take cocks." He looked Vera up and down. "You practically are one anyway."

With a cruel smile painting his lips, Keevan removed his hand from Vera's mouth.

_"Now say it like you mean it."_

* * *

As the rope wound tightly around Vera’s arms, her heart rate began to quicken. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the sensations; shibari was something she’d dabbled in before, on numerous occasions in fact. But each of those instances had been with lovers she trusted, with safe words agreed upon and scissors handy. This was _vastly_ different. And yet, beneath the anxiety of involuntary restraint and the humiliation of having her chest thrust out by the position, Keevan’s nimble hands and skilled tying had her blood pumping for a different reason altogether.

As he walked around her Vera took the opportunity to test the strength of her bounds and found them too sturdy to struggle against. It was nothing less than she'd expected, but regardless, she had to try.

At Keevan’s instructions, the frustration in her eyes turned swiftly to disbelief – and then, as his hand came up to silence her and his gaze turned rabid with hints of the wild creature within he’d shown her last night, apprehension. He’d anticipated her reaction perfectly, something that irked Vera: after all, she hated to be predictable. But she liked to make _informed_ decisions, and his threat answered quite clearly the question that had been on her lips (“And what’ll you do if I don’t?”).

The tracing of his fingertip over her shoulder momentarily distracted her from his taunting with a jolt of dismay. Vera had suspected, based on the way her skin still stung a bit as she moved, that Keevan hadn’t healed her wound completely; now, as she felt him tracing each raised welt – sparking memories of agony and bliss with every motion – her fears that he’d leave his mark in the form of a scar were confirmed.

 _Removing it will be the very first thing I do when I get home,_ she thought – and then added, somberly, _If I ever get home._

Then something Keevan said yanked her attention back to the fore.

_All fourteen of them._

Swallowing fear, she averted her eyes as Keevan bore into them, uselessly trying to hide her panicked emotions at this prospect. Her decision was made in that moment; however tasteless and cruel the things Keevan made her do, they paled in comparison to that kind of brutality.

Hearing Remata’Klan’s name being dragged into this threat lit Vera’s eyes once more with fire, however, and at Keevan’s petty insult her helpless fury only grew, hatred roiling from behind her emerald irises. She’d waited, for most of this encounter, for the perfect opportunity to tell Keevan exactly how she felt by spitting in his face, but as his hand fell and her anger condensed and the opportunity finally presented itself, she knew it would only serve to spell her doom. Steadying her quickened breathing, she forced the urge back down and focused solely on survival.

Motivated as she was now, the words came without much hesitation.

“I deserve to be punished.”

Vera tried – truly, she did – to force the phrase out with as much conviction as she could. But despite her untampered volume, unbroken eye contact, and even, steady tone, she did not intrinsically believe the words in the slightest and as a result they rang out somewhat hollow and with a definite hint of bitterness she hadn’t meant to allow to leak into her voice. In the split second of silence that followed, she prayed Keevan would allow her to try again rather than misconstruing her attempt as continued defiance.

* * *

Keevan couldn't help but laugh at her perfunctory declaration.

"That didn't sound convincing." His face full of mirth, he turned his head in the direction of the guards. "What do you think?" The Jem'Hadar didn't answer, recognizing the rhetorical nature of his question.

Returning his gaze to Vera, he wondered if he should give her another chance. She was angry, that much was clear. And while her impotent fury was highly entertaining, it ran counter to what he was trying to do. He decided to try another approach.

Stepping so close their chests touched - hers arching seductively, distracting his gaze for a moment - he put his hands on her cheeks and leaned close enough he could smell the sweetness on her breath.

"You really don't believe you deserve punishment?" He shook his head in affected incredulity. "You are more ruthless than I gave you credit for, Vera. Do you think your higher-ups would agree that you're blameless? Getting caught alive, like an amateur?” He might have been partly projecting Dominion values, but he also had an inkling that the kind of organization that sends spies deep into enemy territory was likely not as forgiving as a wholesome image of their precious Federation suggested. “You have no idea the information we can extract from you with a mental probe. Information that will likely cost lives."

Keevan let one hand slide down to her neck, over her breast and abdomen, until finally his fingers cupped her mara. He was hoping to find wetness there, to further illustrate his point. "But what do you care about lives when you're so eager to be fucked?"

His fingers found her clit and began rubbing lazy circles over it.

"You cling to your pride and your righteous anger, even though it doesn't serve anyone, least of all you. You're not a good person for making a show of resistance. Every choice that brought you here, and every choice since, has been a mistake. Accept it, and you'll feel better. _You deserve to be punished."_

* * *

Once again, as Keevan drew closer, Vera's thoughts began to muddle. Distracted by his warmth and proximity, the scent of his breath, the tingling of her skin beneath his palms, she listened to his argument with hardly any filter at all, allowing most of what he said to go unchallenged in her mind. It was a dangerous game to play, she knew, but all her attempts at grasping onto reason miscarried helplessly as her pulse quickened, her breathing grew shallow, and her blood rushed south.

His mention of a mental probe stalled her tangled thoughts for a moment. Under the imminent threat of such a device, Vera knew she wouldn’t hesitate to make use of the cyanide capsule lodged in her molar. It was a last resort she hoped never to have to employ. But now, wondering if it was to be her demise anyhow, she considered, for a split second, simply taking it now and ending the suffering.

As soon as the temptation arose, Vera tamped it back down. _No. Not if there’s still a chance of escape._ And Keevan was about to put her on a ship, likely with a potential ally onboard. She had to bide her time.

Then Keevan’s hand was sliding down her body, and she couldn’t stop the panicked breaths coming short and frantic through her nostrils – a byproduct of her fear, her body’s hardwired anticipation of what was to come...mixed with a healthy dose of alarm at her own strong stirrings of arousal in response to his touch. 

Her obvious physical reaction only grew in intensity as Keevan found her mara – and Vera was properly horrified to prove his point with the slight amount of slickness that had begun to gather there. The evidence of her arousal only grew as he rubbed at her with that awful, teasing touch (she wished he’d _stop_ – she wished he’d _go faster),_ drawing more wetness, causing her thighs to tense and her head to bow and her eyes to flutter shut in equal parts enjoyment and shame. Deep, terrible shame. Keevan was right about at least one thing: she _was_ eager to be fucked.

Perhaps he was right about more.

Under Keevan’s ministrations, woozy still and facing the very imminent reality of what was about to occur once more (and not for the last time), the voice in Vera’s head that steeled her against this line of thinking was very, very far away. Little truths began to trickle in.

 _It is a show of resistance. I don’t_ want _to resist him._

_If I hadn’t fucked up somewhere, I wouldn’t be here._

And an earlier thought echoing in her head unbidden: _Perhaps I deserve to be captured._ Which flowed, horrifically easily, into: _Perhaps I deserve to be punished._

For a long moment after Keevan finished speaking, Vera was silent. Despite the walls within her beginning to break down and half-convince her of the statement, she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Her throat closed around them. Finally, she dropped her forehead to Keevan’s shoulder, so dismayed to be giving in she couldn’t bear to show her face.

“Don’t make me say it,” she implored, voice raw with burgeoning vulnerability – trembling with hints of the desperation that had only escaped during her most intense struggles the previous night. “Just punish me.”

* * *

It occured to Keevan that this was the first time Vera had willingly touched him - without prompting, completely of her own accord. Such a small thing, yet the meaning behind it was exceptionally thrilling. At her broken plea he even briefly considered giving her a break - very briefly - but by all appearances she only needed one tiny push, and the temptation of providing it proved too much for him to resist.

He let his hand slide from her cheek to the back of her head in a comforting gesture and pressed his lips to her temple.

"Of course I will," he whispered, the meaning of the words colliding with the reassuring way he uttered them, "I know it's hard, and you're so tired of fighting. All you have to do is say the words and I'll give you what you're asking for, what you need."

He quickened the movements of his fingers over her bundle of nerves for a few seconds, then slowed them down to a torturously slow pace, inwardly salivating at the sight of her teetering over the edge.

* * *

Vera drew no comfort from Keevan’s kiss to her temple. It was an empty gesture, null of any true kindness, very unlike the one Remata’Klan bestowed upon her yesterday. Her thoughts traveled to him for a moment; how she wished he was here now, to see her through this, to be her source of strength and comfort again. Perhaps that was what allowed her to hold out for so long the previous night, and why she had given in so easily today. Inwardly, viciously, she cursed herself for her weakness.

She’d held out hope Keevan would show a mote of leniency now that she’d not only demonstrated her acquiescence in as many words but also leaned into him, sought his touch. _Of course he won’t just get it over with,_ she thought bitterly, and parted her lips to speak – then promptly gasped as his fingers picked up the pace and remained open, silent, for those intense few seconds until his touch relented. Her hips rolled forward in protest of the torturous rhythm, and inside, Vera was warm, her inner muscles pulsing, recalling the indescribable shocks of euphoria that had trailed on the heels of every blossom of pain Keevan forced on her, anticipating the promise implied by his fingers on her now. She dreaded what was to come – just as much as she was thrilled by it.

Did she deserve punishment? Maybe. But not the kind Keevan was doling out. For this penance she could not have committed a grand enough sin. But did she _want_ to be punished? There was no denying the answer to that.

“I deserve to be punished,” she moaned, slightly breathless at his teasing, the words in equal part a confession and a plea – teeming with ignominy at the realization of her own dark desires.

* * *

That was it. The sinful, wretched, agonized declaration - it felt like he ripped it right from her chest with his bare hands. Keevan's eyelids trembled in a lustful satisfaction so intense it almost crossed the threshold of physical. He inhaled deeply, twisting his fingers in her hair and using the firm grip to make her meet his half-lidded gaze.

"Indeed," he drawled with conviction, his voice low and husky and full of frightening promise.

A split-second later his lips were on hers in a violent, biting kiss. High off his triumph, he abandoned all self-restraint and attacked her mouth like he wanted to devour her whole. Without stopping for a second, he urged her to move backwards step by step until her bound hands hit the wall. _I’ve got you now, little human._ His tongue plunged into her mouth at the same time two of his fingers sunk inside her wet heat up to the last knuckle.

The warm pulsing walls of her qitha felt even tighter than before, swollen and no doubt still tender after the events of the day prior. A couple minutes of working her open with his fingers could make her slightly more comfortable and call forth more azhe to ease his entry, but he intended to do no such thing. It was supposed to be a punishment, after all.

He allowed himself to enjoy the fruity sweetness on Vera’s tongue for a few more breaths before ripping his fingers out of her and roughly turning her over, pushing her face-first into the wall of the cell. After the soft, nauseatingly gentle touches he forced himself to employ, manhandling her like this felt viscerally satisfying.

Without preamble, he produced his throbbing qitha and directed it to her entrance, sheathing himself within her in a single thrust. A loud, filthy groan escaped him when her fluttering walls stretched around his length yet again.

Too worked up to give Vera - or himself - any time to adjust, he immediately set a brutal, animalistic pace sure to leave both of them breathless.

* * *

Trapped under Keevan’s lips – his attack so rough it could hardly be called a kiss – Vera felt torn in two. One more rational side of her wanted to shrink away, close her lips, protect herself; the other, louder and more instinctive, driven by a deep, animalistic need that somewhat frightened her, wanted desperately to push back against him with equal force, to dance this tango to her own satisfaction. The fusion of the two resulted in a rather bipolar reaction: at some moments she’d press up into his assault, mashing her lips heatedly into his, and the very next second her mouth would still and pull back until he thrust forward into her once more and lit that dangerous spark of desire.

Then she realized her back was against the wall, and Keevan’s tongue was in her mouth and his _fingers_ – gods above, they stung like hell inside her abused passage but the way they filled her was heavenly. She jerked away, bucked into them, let out a soft and breathless sound into the kiss somewhere between a moan and a sigh–

And then the fingers were gone, and his tongue, and his mouth – and her face was slammed into the wall. Overwhelmed, Vera struggled against her restraints, instinctively wanting to brace herself against the wall or at the very least find something to hold on to. The way Keevan was throwing her around was simultaneously thrilling (few lovers dared treat her with this degree of roughness in the past) and chilling, filling her with mixed degrees of fear, rendering her unable to predict what was about to happen at any given moment with her world so suddenly thrust into chaos.

The fear, it turned out, was very well founded.

She barely managed to whine out an urgent and pathetically desperate, “Wait–!” as she felt Keevan pressing up against her and then he was _inside,_ in one awful tearing motion, and she hadn’t even time to catch her breath after the pained keening sound she cried out before he was driving into her furiously – every thrust splitting her in two, like flames licking between her thighs, burning, all-consuming, inescapable.

She didn’t bother to (or, more accurately, couldn’t) suppress the pained cries choking their way from her throat on every buck of Keevan’s hips. She hadn’t been _ready,_ hadn’t wanted this so soon – why had she expected to find _reward_ within this punishment–?

 _You asked for this,_ Vera reminded herself, dazed beneath the onslaught. _You wanted it. What were you_ thinking? _That you’d enjoy it?_

 _I enjoyed it yesterday,_ she conceded, face turning into the wall as she bit her lip to muffle her cries. _Maybe I can figure out how to enjoy it again._

Anything to escape what she was powerless to stop from happening.

She tried to focus on his sounds. The wonderful, horrible lascivious moan he’d graced her with, the harsh panting as he used her cunt to pleasure himself. She focused on the filthiness of the situation, of her being tied and helpless and shoved into the wall as her captor defiled her, two others watching on. All of it, she couldn’t deny, she found some terrible shameful satisfaction in; and yet despite her efforts, nothing could supercede the pain of what was on all accounts a violent assault.

 _“Please,”_ she heard herself whispering.

* * *

Her pained cries were so delicious he might have forgotten himself for a moment. One look at his qitha disappearing inside her abused, reddened entrance revealed streaks of blood, and the shock of primal ecstasy at the sight ripped another moan out of him. A small amount of red fluid gathered between the ridges of his organ, drawing his fascinated stare.

Fuck, he would probably have to heal her after this encounter, or she'd be useless for the coming weeks. Keevan wasn't normally in the habit of treating his prisoners' injuries after he'd had his fun with them, but in this case, he was grateful to have the medical equipment handy - that way, he could hurt her and fix her up over and over again.

But while the prospect of torturing her was highly appealing in and of itself, it wasn’t all that he wanted from her. Thus, he forced himself to slow down and find an angle that would drag his qitha directly over her sweet spot on every thrust. One small _please_ wouldn't get her entirely off the hook however.

"What's the matter? Don't tell me the _punishment_ isn't to your liking?" he ridiculed. "Let me guess, you expected me to just _let_ you have your pleasure, like last time?"

He submerged himself fully and held inside, the hand that wasn't pressing her head to the wall found her clit and massaged over it in deliberate strokes.

"Would you prefer something like this, perhaps?"

The stimulation seemed to make her reflexively squeeze around him even more and he exhaled sharply at the feeling. Holding still put a strain on his willpower, but it also weakened his craving for more savagery and let him think more clearly. She was bound, trapped against the wall and securely in his grip, completely under his control - and yet this possessive urge didn't let up. Why?

And then the answer came to him, clear as day. He was unconsciously counting the minutes until the change of the guards. When Remata'Klan arrived, Keevan wanted him to see her obedient, ensnared - a proof that whatever connection they shared was discarded and forgotten. He wanted her to writhe wantonly on his qitha and cry out his name, even as her red blood trickled down her thigh.

She wasn't there yet, but he had a feeling that with the right stimulation it wouldn't take long. After all, she'd managed to come while being all but carved up - this injury wasn't even as bad.

He removed his hand from her head and cupped her breast, squeezing the soft globe and playing with a perky nipple. He really wanted to take it in his mouth and leave a couple more marks around it - the delicate skin there bruised even more easily than on the rest of her body. Unfortunately, that would have to wait.

"I don't have to give you this," he underscored his words with a momentary increase of pressure in his ministrations over her sensitive nub, "but if you are sufficiently grateful and thank me, and tell me how much you love it, I might decide that I like hearing that more than your screams." At that, he ground the widest part of his qitha into hers to demonstrate his point even more clearly.

* * *

She _hated_ him. Hated this. Hated that she’d willingly touched him earlier, as though she’d forgotten the brutality he was capable of. Hated how far she’d fallen under the assault of his deadly combination of pain, pleasure and psychological torture, how hard his metaphorical boot was grinding her face into the dirt. Mindless, gasping, struggling to try to dissociate from this awful experience and failing miserably, Vera seethed with vile, roiling hatred.

Especially as he gave her exactly what she wanted – what, she realized, she’d been begging for in her paltry “please.” Not an end to the suffering; that much was impossible. But a reprieve from the pain in the form of deadly pleasure, co-mixing and intermingling the two sensations as he had last night, throttling her body with rolls of bliss on the tail end of every spark of pain and blurring the line of where exactly one ended and the other began.

Every drag over her sweet spot caused her legs to tremble, weak and struggling to keep her aloft. As Keevan stilled and rubbed at her clit she whined pathetically, her body crying out in relief at the replacement of his harsh thrusts with a hard, steady throbbing of pain around the alien organ coinciding with the jolts of pleasure his fingers brought. Jolts which only increased in intensity as he took her breast in his other hand and toyed with her nipple, urging her chest to arch toward his hand. Mortified, grateful, livid, relieved, Vera bowed her head against the wall, face warm, eyes squeezed shut, hips jerking and twitching down into Keevan’s hand despite her best efforts to control them.

He had complete control over her. There was nothing left for her to rebel against, no snappy comebacks or malicious compliance tactics she could employ, that wouldn’t simply make her situation that much worse. It wasn’t enough for Keevan to do as he pleased with her body – he had to have her words as well, her mind and dignity wrenched along to follow in their wake. Part of Vera begged her desperately to refuse, to conserve her self-image and grit her teeth through the pain until he’d finished. Then the grinding of his qitha gave her a harsh reminder of just what that meant.

It was as easy a choice as jumping off a burning building, and she took it with similar reluctant trepidation, finding with horror that the words rang sincere despite her having to choke them out.

 _“Thank you._ You’re a–” God, she wanted to vomit rippleberries all over the wall. Swallowing, she forced the urge down and the words out. _“–generous_ master. Please, I want to feel your touch. I want – I want your hands all over me, I love how you make me feel–” She was gaining speed, the words tumbling breathless out of her faster than her thoughts could keep up with. “–I want to enjoy you fucking me. I want to come around you again. Please, Keevan...”

* * *

The time for her surrender couldn't have been more serendipitous. Keevan's sharp hearing picked up the sound of the doors to the security block sliding open right as Vera opened her mouth to start begging. The footsteps were approaching the cell but by the time they stopped and the two other guards wordlessly left, the Vorta's attention was seized completely by the lustful words coming from his captive. How earnest they sounded, how beseeching and anguished – he had heard less desperate-sounding pleas from people begging him to spare their lives. _I want to enjoy you fucking me._ He didn’t feed her the words, didn’t demand she call him _master_ – it was all her and it was exactly what he wanted to hear. It made him feel powerful. As far as he was concerned, it was the best feeling in the world.

He expected the bare minimum, the passive-aggressive _thank you_ through gritted teeth or another _oh please don't make me say it._ Anticipating that, he was preparing to tease her almost to the point of orgasm and then deny her it, make her service him with her mouth instead, then leave her wanting and unsatisfied. Now though - oh, now the plans had changed. This wonderful show of submissiveness deserved to be rewarded accordingly.

“I’m so glad you’ve finally decided to be honest with me,” he purred into her ear before placing an open-mouthed kiss below it, “and with yourself.” Another kiss, and another, gradually descending down her neck; the warm pressure of lips and tongue designed to call forth purely pleasurable sensations. All the while his fingers provided the steady stimulation to her mara, intermittently rubbing circles around her clit and letting the index and middle finger form a V to caress her lower lips embracing his length. His other hand roamed around her torso, caressing and squeezing, never staying in one place for too long.

As his kisses reached her shoulder, Keevan decided that it was high time to change positions. He wanted to see Vera’s face and wanted her to see his, to burn it into her mind as she succumbs to pleasure. Fighting the urge to thrust back in, he pulled out of her and turned her trembling body over, the sight of her flushed cheeks and her dazed expression beautifully confirming her salacious pleas. On a whim, he picked her up and carried her to the cot, depositing her on her back – or rather on her bound arms and backside – and letting his gaze travel over her naked form.

Her dark hair fanned out on the bedding, soft heavy breasts thrust out by the arc of her back, her slender waist and milky thighs, the inner part of one decorated by a thin red line, just like he imagined - all of it for him, to do with as he pleased. _Until you have to surrender her to the interrogators_ _,_ a disgustingly rational voice reminded him. _Two weeks is plenty of time to get bored of her,_ he countered unconvincingly and elected to think no more of that.

He hurriedly divested himself of his jacket and shirt, too impatient to remove his unbuckled trousers as well, and crawled between Vera’s legs, bracing one hand near her head and giving her a lazy benevolent smile.

“See how easy it is when you’re nice and obedient?” He took his qitha in his hand and rubbed the tip over her clit for a couple long moments, then sunk it halfway into her glistening entrance, taking care to go slow this time. Keeping a close watch on her reactions, he retreated and pushed back in, partway still. The shallow measured rhythm he established thereafter was frustratingly gentle, but he was playing a long game and this was how it had to be at the moment. He hoped Vera appreciated the sacrifice.

His head descended to her breast and he latched onto the pert nipple, rolling it between his teeth for a few moments before opening his mouth wider to suck in a hungry mouthful of flesh, laving his long dexterous tongue around the areolas, then raising his head until the skin stretched and finally popped out of his mouth with an obscene sound. Having abused one breast to his satisfaction, he turned the other; meanwhile, his palms languidly stroked up and down her sides, eventually descending to her hips and thighs, enjoying the satiny feel of her skin.

Quite absorbed in his task, he outwardly ignored the arrival of the two Jem’Hadar, but now that he came down from the high of hearing those sweet words from Vera, he was very much anticipating finding out how Remata'Klan felt about it. _Look, you pathetic creature - look and see what I can do to anything and anyone you have the audacity to care about._

* * *

Surrendering to her baser instincts did not, as Vera hoped, put an end to the war waging within her. Keevan’s touches transforming from those of an abuser to those of a lover brought with them a blissful sense of relief, yes, but in some way they felt even more horrible and wrong than his violent handling of her, and every kiss down her neck and caress over her chest and mara flooded her with as much revulsion as it did warmth.

 _Why,_ she thought miserably, _why can’t I just enjoy this? It would be so much easier...if I could just_ let go _the rest of the way…_

But she couldn’t. Some deep-seated self-preservation instinct screamed at her that she was in the jaws of a predator even as its tongue licked pleasantly over her, robbing her of the sense of safety she needed to relax into its ministrations.

Still, this was a marked improvement. Vera worried for a moment about the fact that Keevan was rewarding her so handsomely, having half-expected to be given crumbs and morsels in return for her obedience. That, at least, would have made it easier to rebel in the future. Now she had little reason to.

She was startled by how much being picked up and carried affected her; she recalled how she felt the previous night as he’d manhandled her, trading her usual sense of solidity and firmness in her toned body for one of lithe, slender grace. Vera _liked_ feeling this way, as though she weighed next to nothing, vulnerable and small in the arms of her captor.

Another thing she reluctantly appreciated was Keevan’s ridding himself of his shirt. At no point last night had he revealed that broad alabaster chest of his, which her eyes hungrily traveled over as he climbed atop her – something she also hadn't the privilege (or burden?) of experiencing, Keevan having been behind her each time he fucked her. The thought of watching his expression as he thrust into her, of staring into those manic eyes and witnessing his orgasm when he came inside her, filled Vera with such conflicting thrill and disgust she didn’t know where to turn. She was grateful he wasn’t within her again yet, as the image caused her inner muscles to spasm in anticipation.

She shifted uncomfortably beneath the oppressive body – almost winced at his benevolent smile, so out of place on those cruel lips – and then sighed, let her head fall back, trembled as he dragged himself over her clit. The stinging that accompanied his sinking back into her caused her to gasp and tense, but to her surprise he stopped halfway, giving her time to adjust, fucking her open slowly. It was a mercy for which Vera was endlessly grateful as the harsh stinging intermingled with and then began to give way to the pleasure of being filled, and slowly she relaxed, lolled her head to the side, let her lips part as her light panting turned laborious. Her shoulders were beginning to ache in this position with her arms pinned to the bed by her torso and partly to alleviate the pressure, partly to encourage Keevan deeper, she braced her feet on the cot and pushed her hips slightly up off the mattress.

A very small, very quiet part of Vera that she refused to examine too closely right now lamented the loss of the pain when, by some twisted miracle, Keevan obliged and descended onto her breast to abuse it. She whined softly at the stimulation that straddled the line between pain and pleasure, eyes opening to glance down at the head buried in her chest, and suddenly wished her hands were free, so they could run through those soft-looking tresses. Then, disgusted with her own impulses, she averted her eyes, trying to find something, anything else around the cell to distract from these troubling reactions–

And found Remata’Klan.

_Remata’Klan!_

Her thoughts ran wild for a moment at the sight of him. Keevan had kept him away from the cells on purpose – so the fact that he was here now meant trouble, for which one of them Vera wasn’t sure. How long had he been there? What had he _heard?_ Vera felt shame again, white-hot shame, underscored by an inexplicable sheepishness and regret. Had she only been doing what was necessary for her own survival? Yes. Did it still feel like a betrayal to the Jem’Hadar who’d cared for her, who’d shielded her as best he could against Keevan’s abuse, to which she was now willingly submitting? Strangely, terribly, yes.

In her vulnerability, every emotion shone through her eyes, wide and still fearful as they locked on those stormy blue irises of Remata’Klan’s. They spoke to him without words, telegraphing some wordless combination of _I’m sorry_ and _help._

* * *

As soon as he was informed of his reassignment to guard duty, Remata’Klan knew what was going to happen. He was going to see Keevan already there, tormenting the human, likely about to demand his participation. The human. _Vera,_ he corrected himself. During their patrol, Fourth Limara’Son had inquired as to how it felt to mate with her and lamented that he hadn’t had the chance to do so as well. Maybe next time, he'd said. Remata’Klan had barely stopped himself from taking Limara'Son's head.

He did his best to concentrate on his duty, but try as he might she kept intruding upon his thoughts. Her vibrant green eyes, filled with so much emotion when she parted from him, her soft skin and her sensual voice, the alluring way she moved her body in the throes of passion… He didn’t know what to do with the feelings she stirred within him and there wasn’t anywhere he could seek guidance. For the first time in his life he felt lost.

What _was_ clear, was that he had no choice but to obey his orders. With a heavy heart (and simultaneously, strangely hopeful) he stepped into the security holding block. Immediately, he smelled blood and hastened his steps without thinking. Then, he heard her voice. As he approached, he could make out the words.

“…love how you make me feel.” Remata’Klan’s steps faltered, but he kept on walking. “I want to enjoy you fucking me. I want to come around you again.” It was unmistakably her voice. It sounded desperate, it sounded _genuine._ His insides turned to ice.

“Please, Keevan…” The Jem’Hadar stepped into view of the cell; instead of greeting his comrades with a nod, his eyes immediately sought out the source of the voice, taking in the two figures standing by the wall of the cell, Vera’s lean form almost completely hidden behind the Vorta looming over her.

 _Isn’t that what you expected to see?_ he asked himself. _Yes, but her voice, her words_ … He shook himself out of his reverie and took his assigned place as guard. It wasn’t right, what he was thinking. More to the point, he _had_ no right to feel this despair, this longing, this jealousy and anger. He steeled himself against this onslaught of emotions as best he could – which was not very well at all – and froze in a standard stance with his hand on the handle of his rifle. Still, his eyes couldn’t help following the scene unfolding before him.

Even if Keevan didn’t follow her startled gaze, it couldn’t have been any more obvious the moment she noticed Remata’Klan’s presence. She tensed, her face lighting up and then immediately contorting in a visage of worry, guilt and regret. If he wasn’t eagerly anticipating her reaction, he’d have snapped at her to _look at me when I’m fucking you._ He could do that anyway, use it as a reason to punish her again, but he had an even better idea. Snaking an arm around her body to press her flush to his chest as he deepened his thrusts, he leaned to her ear and whispered.

“Why the sour face, aren’t you glad to see your friend?” He gave a sharp nip to her neck. “Or are you embarrassed that he heard you begging for my cock? Don’t bother, that was going to happen sooner or later. Better he see you for the wanton whore you are and be done with it.”

He pressed his teeth into the day-old bruise in the junction of her neck and shoulder and quickened his pace, his palms finding purchase on the supple flesh her buttocks, intent to leave his handprints on the one place that was still somehow left unmarked.

Their combined fluids made his slide in and out of her smooth and easy despite the pressure of her tight walls feebly resisting his entry on every inward motion. Now that the speed and the depth of his thrusts were again becoming satisfying, he found himself holding back moans – it wouldn’t do to let Vera know how close he was getting, although his harsh panting and the aubergine blush peppering his cheekbones sufficiently demonstrated his enjoyment anyway.

* * *

At no point in their tryst yesterday had Vera been granted the pleasure of skin-to-skin contact, and to feel it now was gratifying in the worst possible way. She’d wanted to feel the rough expanse of Remata’Klan’s scaled chest and his muscled arms encompassing her, not the icy, pale flesh currently pressed against her arched torso, its presence, like all else about Keevan, unwelcome but intoxicating. Combined with his deepening thrusts driving sparks of euphoria into her, she had little choice but to struggle uselessly beneath him, helpless under the overwhelming sensations.

The blush covering her face and neck only deepened as he whispered into her ear, taunting her. A thousand comebacks flew into her mind and then died in her throat, otherwise occupied trying to contain the whines of pain and small sounds of involuntary delight that were escaping soft and wanton with every jolt of her body beneath Keevan’s. His hands on her ass and the telltale enjoyment in his heavy panting didn’t help matters, and desperate not to be so obviously enjoying herself in front of Remata’Klan, she bit her lip to silence herself, tried to still her hips, and turned her face guiltily away. His presence had been so comforting yesterday; now, it had the complete opposite effect, going so far as to distract her from the orgasm that had been distantly approaching.

Would he understand? Would he judge her, think less of her? Vera realized she didn’t know Remata’Klan at all, beyond the small moments of kindness he had showed her, just as likely to be out of pity than anything else (though, she recalled, that passionate kiss they’d shared implied otherwise). Would she get a chance to explain herself to him? To apologize? Would Keevan draw him into the foray again to dig the wound deeper for them both?

That last question ate at her, and through gritted teeth Vera collected herself enough to breathlessly ask, bitterness seeping once more into her husky voice: “Did you – bring him here – just to watch?”

* * *

That bold question provoked a breathless laugh from Keevan.

“My, aren’t you greedy? Don’t you have your hands full – so to speak – with just myself?”

He wasn’t sure the wordplay translated, but it amused him either way. Vera’s reactions since Remata’Klan had arrived were as entertaining as he had hoped – her emotions cycled between shame, hope, pleasure, confusion and who knows how many more subtle changes with a speed he suspected only possible for humans.

Frankly, Vera was surprising him with her proactiveness today. He didn’t necessarily want to discourage that, but he also couldn’t pass up such a brilliant opportunity to try and turn her own words against her. He sat up on his knees – a change of angle she should appreciate – and moved her upper body diagonally on the cot so that her head was left hanging off of it.

“But maybe you’re just taking pity on poor Remata’Klan,” Keevan pretended to ponder; he knew that wasn’t the case – the jab was meant purely for the soldier. “Oh well, since you’re being so generous, I suppose I can let him use your mouth.”

He lifted his narrowed eyes to the Jem’Hadar in question and jerked his head in a command to approach. Remata’Klan did. Then, heeding the Vorta’s further unspoken direction he kneeled by Vera’s head – what was about to happen sent a jolt of heat to his groin, especially when it was her that all but requested that he join. The looks she was sending him were imploring, apologetic, and he felt terrible for momentarily being angry with her. It was Keevan that deserved all of his anger; Remata’Klan knew well how he could twist his words and distort people’s minds, making them say what he wanted them to say, think what he wanted them to think. But did that mean he had already succeeded with Vera? The words Remata’Klan overheard didn’t sound forced… They were, he told himself sternly. _They were._

“Well, what are you waiting for? She can’t exactly undress you herself.” Keevan rushed him along, exasperated. Maybe he should have finished with her first; this constant pausing and holding back was driving him crazy.

Resigned, Remata’Klan undid his uniform trousers and revealed his cloaca, bulging with the hardening but still hidden qaimara.

* * *

 _I should be careful what I wish for._ Much as her already-elevated heartbeat quickened in response to her preferred lover joining her, Vera was inwardly quite anxious at this helpless position she was in. Without her hands and with no way to really move her upper body, her mouth was little more than a hole for Remata’Klan to fuck. She didn’t anticipate him being rough with her, but...deep-throating was not something in which she was especially experienced, and the last thing she wanted was to choke on him or cover his qitha in regurgitated rippleberry. Nervous, she glanced from his nimble fingers undoing his uniform back up to his eyes, consoled by the barest hint of softening she thought she noticed there.

Focusing back to the task at hand, Vera was surprised to see the cloacal slit between the Jem'Hadar's thighs. In the laboratory she hadn’t had enough time to properly explore his anatomy, and the sight was fascinating. For a moment she wondered, boggled: _Where does he have the space to fit that thing when it’s inside him?_

With one last uncertain glance up to Remata’Klan's face (the last sight of him she’d get for a while in this unfortunate position), she shifted close enough to press her lips to his anatomy, cautiously exploring. Brushing them lightly up and down the ridged slit at first, she soon let her tongue dart out to lap along him, encouraging what lay within out; then, finding her rhythm, she rubbed and massaged her lips passionately along him as she had with female lovers in the past, pausing to press her tongue teasingly between the scaled lips and almost moaning with delight when it encountered the pressure of his qaimara hiding within, beginning to evert.

In her distraction, Vera’s body acted of its own volition, seeking its carnal pleasures without her notice. Her hips wriggled down into Keevan’s, back arching to complement the new angle he’d taken that had him pressing _perfectly_ up into her sweet spot, stimulating it softly with every gyration. Further up, her chest thrust out toward Remata’Klan, begging for his hands to take hold of her bruised and tender breasts, to shower her with the gentle ministrations he’d bestowed upon her the previous night.

* * *

Despite having witnessed more scenes of this nature than he would have liked, this particular position was new to Remata’Klan. The way Vera’s body was arranged between them – her arms bound, emphasizing her helplessness and almost completely removing her agency, practically reducing her to a vessel to take pleasure from – it seemed almost blasphemous. That must have been Keevan's idea exactly. Well, Remata'Klan refused to be an instrument of her humiliation; he wouldn't treat her the way the Vorta clearly wanted him to. The mocking words about _pity_ had sown doubt in him however – even spoken with clear intent to hurt, they made more sense than the possibility that Vera would truly _want_ this. But then, why did she look so eager to put her lips on him? Why did her movements, restricted as they were, convey such desire? The Jem’Hadar couldn’t help a surprised grunt when her tongue slithered into the seam of his cloaca and licked at the throbbing flesh beneath. A spike of pleasure pierced through him at the scalding touch of her wet muscle, and, enticed by the promise of more, the head of his qitha slipped out from its sheath.

Breathing noticeably harder and once again staggered by the strength of his own desire, Remata’Klan closed his eyes, trying to center himself. Vera’s talented tongue prevented that quite efficiently. Having no other option than to give in to the sensations, he opened his eyes again and looked down, not sure if the enticing view was more or less damning than not watching at all and having his sense of touch sharpen in the absence of sight. In an attempt to ease Vera’s discomfort, he cupped his hand under her neck, gently brushing his thumb over her pulse. His other hand travelled over her collarbone, marveling yet again at the silky texture of her skin under his rough palms, then moved down to her breast, caressing the side lightly, before cupping the pliant globe, enjoying its weight and feel. Meanwhile, his hips had begun to rock slightly in response to Vera’s passionate ministrations, and before Remata'Klan knew it, his qitha had emerged almost completely. He didn’t want to remove his hand from the back of Vera's neck and stop supporting her, so he had to cease caressing her chest to hold his hardened length and direct it in the necessary position. As small a range of motion as Vera had at the moment, she could still choose when to let him in, and he waited patiently for her to signal when she was ready.

Much like the day before, Keevan watched Vera's eagerness in perplexed curiosity. She seemed to accept Remata'Klan's gentle touch without reservation, unlike his own. It had noticeably less finesse and experience than his, but, he supposed, it didn’t carry the same underlying threat that Keevan’s did, at least in her experience. Well, that could be easily rectified. But for now he let her take comfort in whatever perceived kindness the Jem’Hadar was showing her before she inevitably realized how wrong she was. Of that, he would make sure.

At that point, her writhing was already unashamedly lustful, urging him to resume his movements within her spasming walls. With a pleased smirk, he did just that. Their pause delayed the approach of his peak again and made him burn with impatience, but he somehow convinced himself to hold off on a rougher pace until they finally started in earnest on the other end. Keevan was eager to see how much of the Jem’Hadar’s length she’d be able to take in this position and how Remata'Klan was going to fuck her now that he wasn’t such a passive participant. But if this lethargic foreplay continued, Keevan might have to give him some more precise directions.

* * *

Remata’Klan’s hand beneath her neck was such a small thing, such a trivial kindness – and yet it meant the world to Vera. Perhaps he would know her gratitude in feeling the fluttering of her heart in her pulse, or in the weight of her head relaxing into his hold. Certainly, he would feel it in her eager lips and tongue.

With no way to use her eyes to communicate her intention, she settled for direct action, parting her lips and lifting her head barely from Remata’Klan’s hand to hook her tongue around the tip and pull him inside the humid warmth of her mouth. Settling back into his hold, she got to work immediately on the length she’d captured, sucking at and lapping over the blunt tip with intent to draw more of those surprised grunts and pleased growls from the Jem’Hadar, shivering in anticipation of him sinking further in.

And before she knew what had possessed her, Vera was suddenly thinking of the sharp exhale her tightening muscles had pulled from Keevan earlier. With a reluctant muted moan as he began to fuck into her again, she tensed purposefully around him on the apex of a thrust, her thighs tightening _just_ slightly around his hips in response to the slight jolt of pain and heightening of pleasure it produced…

Some nagging thought in the back of her mind was sounding alarm bells. Focused as Remata’Klan was likely to be on his cock disappearing down her throat as opposed to what Keevan was doing to her further below, it was still within the realm of possibility the Jem’Hadar would glance up and notice that her body language toward Keevan had _changed_ somewhat, and it was quite impossible to hide her heavy breathing and occasional lustful sounds. This scenario was no different from the previous day and yet this time guilt was washing over Vera, and then defensiveness, against an imagined betrayal, against her own self-loathing: _I can’t help how it feels. I asked to take away the pain and he did. That doesn’t mean I_ want _him to touch me. Not like I do you._

* * *

The tensing of her inner muscles took Keevan by surprise and he couldn’t hold back a quiet gasp at the intense burst of pleasure it provoked. Oh, what a delight she will be when she finally lets go of her pride and learns her place. He imagined her on her knees – or better yet, on all fours in her cell, obediently waiting for him to arrive and take what he wants, begging him to fuck her, just like she did today.

Keevan didn’t need to see her face to figure out that Vera was enjoying herself – her body was demonstrating that quite clearly. And the best part was, she wasn’t so far gone for the movements to be unconscious. She made a choice. That was the ironic trick to people like her – strong, driven types for whom taking the initiative comes as naturally as breathing. When you limit their options, they choose anything but inaction, even if it means actively taking part in their own descent into depravity. He grasped the backs of her thighs, immensely enjoying the encouraging pressure of her toned legs around his waist, and concentrated on varying the nature of his thrusts from shallow ones that insistently abused her sweet spot to deeper, more sensual motions that put pressure on the head of her cervix. In this position, he could see the slight bump forming under her navel whenever he submerged fully, and it prompted him to put his palm there to add to the (already thoroughly maddening) stimulation. Subtle noises of pleasure escaped through his clenched teeth more and more often – he didn’t even know why he bothered to hold them back. Out of an inherent need for control perhaps? To hide the effect Vera was having on him?

And not just on him. Remata’Klan was thoroughly affected as well – as soon as she took the head of his qitha into her enveloping warmth, he growled in pure bliss. The opportunity to take his pleasure however he wanted was right there, seductive as ever; pure will alone allowed him to keep his movements measured and controlled, sliding back and forth over the roof of her mouth to give her some time to adjust.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Remata’Klan was becoming inadvertently attuned to Vera’s reactions, so her uninhibited signs of pleasure didn’t escape his notice. They weren’t any less captivating than they were yesterday, but despite the situation being virtually the same as then, the possessive impulse that hit him was entirely new. Unable to examine his feelings, he instead pushed deeper into her mouth until he encountered resistance, retreating when he heard sounds of discomfort, then established as easy a rhythm as he could. Everything in him was demanding to go deeper, faster, be rougher. An animal inside wanted to see her throat bulge with his length, to hear her choke, to feel her struggle. Remata’Klan grit his teeth and pushed down the urge, the only outward sign of his inner battle being the slight tightening of his fingers around Vera’s neck.

* * *

Tightening which Vera certainly didn’t miss.

She was floored by Remata’Klan’s restraint. The moment she’d whimpered uneasily as his qitha approached the back of her throat, he’d withdrawn back, as perfect a gentleman as one could be under the circumstances. The upper ridges of his qaimara were the most sensitive, she knew – and she lavished them in attention each time he slid himself into her mouth, tongue flattening and pressing along each valley, cheeks hollowing as she sucked at his thick length. 

But try as he may to hide it, she knew he wanted more. And, she realized helplessly, she wanted to give it to him.

She heard every noise that escaped Keevan as well, and she wanted more from him, too. She yearned, even _ached_ for it. A deep, fathomless hunger was opening within Vera, blotting out every insecurity and inhibition like darkness entreating upon the light. And like the inevitable march of night sheathing all in its inescapable shadow, she was utterly powerless to stop it.

Keevan’s alternating between abusing her sweet spot and bearing down on her cervix (adding discomfort and a deep ache to every blossom of pleasure – a technique, she realized, he delighted and excelled in) was driving her somewhat mad. She wanted his hand to slide down from its perch atop her abdomen and ravage her clit. She wanted him to brutalize her, shove himself in unrelentingly and without mercy as he had earlier, now that she was stretched and dripping wet and more than capable of handling it and the pain that would ensue. To that end she wrapped her legs fully around his waist, the most freedom of movement she could employ at the moment, and used the sudden grip and momentary element of surprise to yank Keevan’s hips toward her the same moment she rocked her own down into him.

But despite that instinctive plan of attack, Vera’s focus remained mostly on Remata’Klan. Part of what attracted her to him in the first place was his clearly animalistic nature, predatorial and strong in a primal sense and yet kept in near-perfect check by his iron will and heroic discipline. She’d seen just a glimpse of it last night, as he’d bruised her sides and filled her to the point of overflowing with strong spurts of his qirazhe; otherwise his compassion for her had kept the instinct in check. She wondered if perhaps it was an unnecessary precaution.

_Let’s see if we can find out._

Vera hadn’t _much_ experience deep-throating, but that didn’t mean she had none at all. Determination spurred her courage onward as she leaned up toward Remata’Klan’s qitha on the apex of a languid thrust and took another inch inside, pressing her tongue flat to the floor of her mouth, breathing in deeply through her nose and concentrating on relaxing the muscles of her throat. They responded well for now, allowing his length to slide a bit further back without inducing any gagging, and the measure of success emboldened her, urged her to keen out a soft imploring sound to Remata’Klan in search of more.

* * *

Vera’s message couldn’t be any clearer, and it proved Keevan’s theory beautifully – she was becoming an active participant in her own debasement. _Wonderful._ He moved his hand down to her clit and gave it a quick slap.

“Oh, you want more? Are you sure you can take it, Vera?” He gave a harsh thrust that jolted her body up the cot and into Remata’Klan. The Jem’Hadar forgot himself for a moment and pushed in further, a deep growl rumbling in his chest at how utterly satisfying it felt. Vera had already welcomed him into her throat, constricting walls of it yielding with difficulty as her windpipe compressed, most likely rendering her unable to breathe. Afraid to do her damage, Remata'Klan moved to retreat, but Keevan's arm shot out and grabbed onto his uniform, commanding him to stop. Tensing up but obeying, the soldier quickly raised his gaze and saw the Vorta looking down in mesmerized fascination. The sight was exquisitely dirty – Vera’s lips were stretched wide around his girth, her throat bulging obscenely, constricting, reflexively trying and failing to take a breath. Despite her rising discomfort or, more precisely, because of it, Keevan ordered.

“Go deeper.”

Remata’Klan did, as carefully as he could, almost mad with blinding ecstasy. Vera’s neck was slender enough for his fingers to encircle it almost completely, so he could distinctly feel the movements of his qitha under his clawed digits. As soon as Keevan let go of him, the Jem’Hadar took it as a permission to pull back – he hurried to do just that, afraid that Vera might pass out.

“Don’t you dare set that dainty pace again,” the Vorta bit out, slightly breathless. “Our little captive has clearly shown that she wants it harder.” He smirked and looked down in hungry anticipation, letting his thumb work on her clit with precise circular motions designed to drag forth as much pleasure out of Vera as possible. At the same time his thrusts turned rough, demanding, self-indulgent. His free hand slid up to her breast again, his touch far from gentle as he squeezed it and rubbed the darkened nipple. Remata’Klan’s palm soon covered the other breast, massaged it in a way he noticed Vera enjoy earlier. Her tongue diligently tracing the most sensitive parts of his organ felt wondrous, the pressure and the heat combined to strip him of any other desire but this – to sink deep into her struggling throat, to take everything she unwittingly – or wittingly – offered and give everything he had in return.

Well trained to work in tandem, he quickly synched his movements with Keevan’s, their rhythm soon becoming merciless, all but animalistic. Whatever differences in their attitudes to the act itself, under the harsh demand of their approaching peaks it came down to one thing only – taking their pleasure from the writhing, trembling body underneath.

* * *

Vera had stepped right into a sinkhole once, as a small child. Excitedly, certain the murky water was no deeper than her ankles, she’d hopped in feet-first and promptly plunged right in over her head. Twenty-odd years later, it appeared things hadn’t changed a bit.

The primal fear that gripped her when her lungs failed to take in air was exactly as panic-inducing as it had been that day she almost drowned. Heart pounding in her ears, the sound growing louder with each aborted attempt at inhalation, her body protested the lack of air every way it could; her torso twisted and jerked, her arms fought violently against their stinging restraints, her legs struggled and kicked against the mattress and pushed her as far from the oppressive presence of the two bodies as possible. None of it had any effect. After a few prolonged moments her motions began to slow; the panic gave way to helpless dread as darkness seeped into the edges of her vision and the sound of blood rushing in her ears grew fuzzy and distant, her strength draining, her eyelids lolling and her body stilling…

And then she was free of it, for a few precious seconds, hardly enough time to sputter and cough and suck down a desperate breath before he was on her again. There was no time whatsoever to fight this, no wiggle room to hesitate and struggle and find her way – that thing was forcing its way down her throat whether she was ready or not, and given the choice between the two, she’d rather swim than sink. Adapting to survive, Vera turned her disciplined mind _hard_ toward suppressing her gag reflex, acutely aware there was no recourse whatsoever if she couldn’t handle this intensity – because at this point there was no stopping either of them. For the most part she succeeded, the occasional gagging noise rising up obscenely around Remata’Klan’s cock but swiftly suppressed before it could escalate further.

An urgent fear, barely kept at bay by her single-minded focus, gripped her as her body kicked into overdrive at the deprivation of oxygen and the burning in her violated throat. She synced her breaths to Remata’Klan’s thrusts but the time in between them allowed her only shallow, split-second gasps that were entirely insufficient and had her heart racing faster and her head growing dizzyingly light. His clawed hand at her neck was now thrillingly restraining rather than comforting – no longer supporting her kindly, but bracing her throat while he used it as though her pharynx was nothing more than his own personal cock sleeve.

Vera couldn’t spare a thought to _begin_ to fathom Remata’Klan’s motivation, whether his animal instinct had taken over or the small flashes of mercy meant he was only obeying orders. Her mind was too clouded – especially with Keevan’s hand on her clit lighting fire in her veins, shocking her with spikes of pleasure alongside the ones he drove into her with his unrelenting pace. The sensation only compounded with both of their hands devouring her chest, Remata’Klan’s passionate massaging the perfect accompaniment to Keevan’s ravenous grabs, and Vera was absolutely, utterly overwhelmed in every sense of the word.

Suddenly a moment of clarity shone through, and the reality of the situation hit her like a ton of self-sealing stem bolts.

She was prisoner on a hostile alien base an entire quadrant away from home, pinned between the ravaging bodies of two deadly predators. Saliva streamed lewdly down her face and into her hair; blood, sweat and qirazhe mingled and coated her inner thighs and qitha. She was stuffed, violated, filled at both ends with her captors’ demanding organs – bound and helpless, breathless, mindless. Filthy. A vessel. A toy.

And she fucking loved it.

Distantly, Keevan’s voice echoed in her addled mind.

_Wanton whore. Miserable slut._

The previous night, Vera would later recollect, had at least been somewhat _personal_ compared to this. Now she was little more than an object the two of them were wringing dry for the sake of their own voracious appetites – and the countless ways in which that position satisfied her, thrilled her, _fulfilled_ her proved Keevan right beyond a shadow of a doubt.

The pain, the euphoria, the fear, the shame, the filthiness – it soon proved far too much, and swept away in it all, Vera had no choice but to succumb to that inevitable _petite mort,_ the strength of it crashing over her violently. She was but a ship adrift in space, buffeted and carried hopelessly along on bursts of solar wind, every radioactive gust that pierced her body pulsing within her veins with the heat of a dying star. It was all she could do to hold on.

The supernovalike effect was as visible externally as it was tangible internally. Vera’s legs locked tightly around Keevan’s waist and pinned him fast inside her as powerful contractions milked his qitha; her hips bucked down into him with each devastating throb, muscles spasming painfully around Remata’Klan’s cock as well as a deep moan attempted to manifest from within her throat. Her torso arched sharply off the mattress and she writhed, desperate, shameless.

For the moment, nothing else in the galaxy existed. She knew only ecstasy.

* * *

As immensely gratifying as Vera's growing submissiveness was, nothing could replace the heady feeling of a victim desperately (and uselessly) struggling to get away in a fit of pure panic. After everything Keevan had subjected her to, this was the first thing that provoked such an uncontrolled response. Did she have a phobia of suffocation? _How interesting._ He filed that morsel of information away for possible future use.

Bearing down and holding her still as she tightened so much that her grip on his qitha became almost painful, he felt his reason fade away, replaced by familiar predatory delirium. The sight of Remata'Klan losing his honed composure and - by all appearances - his unnatural compassion towards the captive, fed into the Vorta's feral triumph even more. This was the first time he felt any kind of kinship towards the Jem'Hadar. The beast couldn’t deny its nature forever. Perhaps, Keevan thought abstractedly, the position played a part, too - unable to see Vera's eyes, or even her face really, it was easy to imagine her as nothing more than a thing, a convenient receptacle designed to take abuse and milk qirazhe into her spasming holes.

Remata'Klan had known the feeling of White deprivation, the way his bones would ache and his mind would cloud in untamed aggression - what he was feeling now was almost indistinguishable from that. Except, to quench this thirst he only had to keep moving, keep tearing into this tight, straining orifice unfit to take him naturally but unable to resist his assault.

Pleasure as vicious as a laser melting through skin and bone yanked him to his peak before he could form a coherent thought, and suddenly he was erupting into Vera's throat, his qaimara pulsing with every heartbeat as he stuffed it as far as it would go, letting out a loud ferocious growl that echoed around the entire security block.

The pure violence in Remata'Klan's demeanor mirrored Keevan's, who reached a blazing orgasm soon after and stayed at the apex of his rapture for so long that his ecstatic moan turned into a hoarse scream. Trapped in the stifling embrace of Vera's thighs and overwhelmed by the continuous spasms of her convulsing body, he barely managed to catch himself on his arm, planting it beside Vera's shoulder and breathing heavily through open lips.

In the corner of his blurry vision, he noticed Remata'Klan flinch as he pulled out of her abused mouth. Keevan wanted to laugh, he wanted to say a thousand mocking comments - or sing a thousand praises (which was a compulsion that surely meant that he still wasn't in his right mind). Just as well that he couldn't do any of that, wrung out of all energy after an orgasm that must have temporarily fried his brain. So, he collapsed to the side, and then onto his back, pulling Vera's body on top of him, still buried within her so deep it was unthinkable to tear away. He closed his eyes and exhaled, clutching her tight to his midsection like he was a greedy child refusing to part with his favorite toy.

In contrast to Keevan's bliss, Remata'Klan was frozen in horror. As his euphoria abated, he crashed into a pit of despair so deep it practically gutted him. What did he do? What did he just do to Vera? How could he? His mind, no longer tinted by ravaging hunger, supplied him with pictures of what happened not a minute ago - the terror and pain obvious in her body language, a vision so familiar to the soldier yet so devastating when it was _her_ that suffered. _There it is. I_ am _a monster, just like the Vorta._ He closed his eyes, unable to take in the sight of Vera's ravaged body, much less meet her eyes.

* * *

Vera was in no state to meet his eyes herself. The moment Remata’Klan retreated from her throat she gasped and sputtered and gulped down hungry lungfuls of air, twisting away to get on her stomach, coughing nearly to the point of heaving – desperate to clear the myriad of fluids still blocking her burning airway. Keevan’s repositioning of her assisted that endeavor and, though she had aimed to let her head fall over the side of the cot, his shoulder was just as good a place as any for the spittle and mucus that was overflowing from her throat and obscenely dripping from her swollen lips. It coated the side of her cheek and temple and seeped into her hair, tangled and fallen all around her face – itself a deep, true crimson, her lips tinged the barest shade of blue.

Reality bled back in slowly, piece by piece, a little more with every intake of breath. Vera became aware, first, of the repulsive position she was in, encircled in Keevan’s embrace with his cock still buried inside her. A hoarse groan of displeasure – the only protest she was capable of at the moment – began and then fizzled out in her throat, which throbbed acutely painfully the instant she tried to make any sort of vocalization. Remata’Klan had abused it well.

_Remata’Klan._

She could still taste the azhe that had dripped from his cock as he slid it out of her mouth. She could hear his vicious, animalistic growl of ecstasy, so loud it had echoed off the walls, as he shoved himself violently into the depths of her pharynx.

She’d wanted to see that side of him. And she got exactly what she wished for.

Her thoughts were too hazy and exhausted to examine how exactly she felt about this. All Vera knew at the moment was that she was in pain, full of fear, too weak to move, and deeply, thoroughly satisfied.

She heard Keevan’s voice once more, so clearly she almost thought he’d said it aloud again. _A brainless doll only fit to take cocks._

 _He’s done it,_ she thought despairingly, completely limp atop him, the last vestiges of her aftershocks twitching around his qitha. _Turned me into his perfect little fuck-doll._

 _No,_ came another voice, stronger, and she was dismayed to realize it was her own. _He just showed you what you were all along._

A sudden spike of nausea overwhelmed her. Before she could even finish thinking _I’m going to be sick,_ her stomach was contracting, forcing its contents into her throat, and she barely managed to turn her head toward the side of the cot in time to expel her earlier meal onto the floor.

* * *

 _Too bad about the berries_ _,_ Keevan noted absentmindedly, leaning his head away as Vera emptied the sparse contents of her stomach. _Well, practice makes perfect_ _._ Maybe she'd fare better with _his_ qitha when he came around to trying her throat, too.

Unlike yesterday, he wasn't up for another round - the intensity of the encounter had taken it out of him and he didn't feel the need to assert himself any more than he already did. All in all, the Vorta was pleased with his pet's progress. Her earlier sweet pleas echoed in his ears, even eclipsing the memories of her panicked struggles and pained screams, both fulfilling in their own right. What a cornucopia of delights she was.

Ah, but there was one more reaction he wanted to solicit from her. And what a perfect segue to boast a certain tidbit of knowledge he picked up in his research into human reproduction. Turning his head towards her ear, he whispered.

"Isn’t it a bit early for you to get sick? I was under the impression it takes human women at least a couple of weeks before the signs start to show."

* * *

It took Vera a moment to register that Keevan had spoken at all. His humid breath on her ear sent a visible shiver down her spine – and, head lolling, she repeated the word vacantly back to him in her quiet, shredded voice, uncomprehending. “Signs…?”

Then it clicked.

Alertness shooting sharply through her as the implication sunk in, she felt her heart drop through to her churning stomach. Picking her head up with a speed that made it swim, Vera found Keevan’s eyes, her own transmitting a hard edge of desperate, nervous denial.

“You don’t–” she tried, and then fell silent, washed over with horror at the calm, even expression he wore and the lack of deceit it implied. She swallowed thickly, trying to gain a modicum of control over her own voice, and made one more attempt to convince herself: “You can’t.”

But the declaration was fraught with her unspoken question: _Can you?_

Without thinking, her eyes tore from Keevan’s and sought Remata’Klan’s. Despite the abuse, despite her newfound conflicting feelings about him, her first impulse was still to seek him for support.

* * *

Remata’Klan’s whole being ached with the need to ease Vera’s suffering. Suffering that _he_ inflicted, at least partly. Having collected himself somewhat after the nasty shock he experienced, he righted his uniform but remained kneeling close by, shuffling away slightly to give her some space, unsure if his proximity would be offensive to her now.

He didn’t think he could feel any guiltier, but when Vera threw up on the floor, looking so miserable and brittle, he wanted to break something in pure desperation. Then, Keevan whispered something into her ear and in a few seconds her face took an expression very close to horror. She looked to Remata’Klan in a silent plea for help, for consolation – and for a moment he felt a spark of hope when she did… but what could he offer? He met Vera’s eyes, hoping to convey the depth of his regret and his silent support. He didn’t know what Keevan had said to her; so far, he didn’t appear in the mood to abuse her further, aside from his words that were clearly meant to cause her distress of some kind. Still, those were just words, and the soldier prayed that they would be the extent of the Vorta’s cruel entertainment for that day.

Keevan chose to willfully misinterpret the imploring look Vera sent Remata’Klan’s way.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re safe on that front. _He_ can’t. I, on the other hand…” He trailed off meaningfully. He deliberately chose vague phrasing to keep the Jem’Hadar in the dark (even if they did overhear his quiet speech) so they didn’t spoil his game. Vera’s reactions were priceless, and he almost lamented the impossibility of the outcome he was implying. He relaxed his embrace and let his hands settle easily on her hips, stirring his own slightly, quite content to keep his softening qitha inside her. It could be nice, he thought, to fall asleep just like that, if only he could trust Vera not to murder him in his sleep. Then, probably giving her more motive to want to do exactly that, he continued.

“If it hasn't happened yet, there will be plenty of opportunities to change that. Or maybe it’s happening right now, as we speak.” He slid his hands up and down her sides in a lazy caress, carefully keeping his expression relaxed as he observed her reactions in secret amusement.

Then, the attention of everyone in the room was drawn to the insistent beeping coming from Keevan’s discarded jacket. _Fuck._ _Just as it was getting interesting._ He closed his eyes, frowning in frustration. He had a pretty good idea who might be trying to contact him and, unfortunately, it couldn’t wait. With some effort, he pried Vera’s fatigued body off of him and stood up.

Pushing his luck, he ignored the annoying sound and instead went to the medical kit he brought. After a bit of rummaging through it, he found a tube of regenerative gel. _This should do._ He tossed it on the floor near the still kneeling Jem'Hadar.

"I want her healed," Keevan ordered, gesturing vaguely towards Vera's body, then added pointedly, _"Except_ for the scar.”

He collected his things, only bothering to put on the shirt, then turned in Vera’s direction, the irritation in his eyes immediately replaced by a flicker of satisfaction as he surveyed her exhausted form.

“I will see you soon, pet. Behave while I’m gone.”

With that, he turned and left the cell, the chiming sound of the communicator growing quieter until it couldn’t be heard anymore.

The words, thick with emotion, rushed out of Remata’Klan’s lips as soon as the Vorta left. 

“I’m sorry.”

He wanted to hurry to Vera’s side immediately, but was frozen in place until she gave him permission, some kind of a sign that he could approach.

* * *

Revulsion roiled through her, renewed, at Keevan’s implication. With increasing desperation she tried to reason it out – _before long I’ll either be dead or on my way back to the Alpha Quadrant where I can get rid of it_ – but images flashed through her mind unabated of sitting in a dingy cell, swollen with child, left to rot by the Dominion interrogators.

Self-soothing, her tongue rolled absently over the molar in the back of her mouth containing the cyanide capsule.

 _It won’t come to that. It_ won’t.

Keevan’s rising blissfully interrupted that dark train of thought and Vera hissed in pain as he slid out of her, her injuries now severely noticeable in the absence of arousal. Squeezing her thighs shut to combat the throbbing sting, she cringed at the sight of blood streaked over Keevan’s qitha as he put it away, only moderately comforted by the promise of the regenerative gel he threw to the floor. Regardless of how he fixed her up (or rather, had her fixed up), she knew he’d be back to tear her apart again, and again, and again.

 _Pet,_ he called her. She hadn’t even the dignity of a name anymore.

Remata’Klan’s voice cut through her miserable reverie.

Her head turned towards him, eyes widening. Her voice cracked as she spoke, underscoring her weakness horribly, and ashamed with self-consciousness Vera almost wished Remata’Klan wouldn’t look at her. “You’re sorry,” she repeated back airily, trying to consolidate the emotion in his voice, the anguish in his eyes, with her feelings of fear and betrayal. As she looked at him she envisioned the expression that must have contorted his face as he fucked into her throat, the sheer depths of euphoria that must have overwhelmed him as he shoved himself down her esophagus as far as he would go and filled her stomach with his qirazhe. 

But he was _sorry._

A short, humorless chuckle fell from Vera's lips.

Still, she knew, she had no leg to stand on. Remata’Klan had been swept away in Keevan’s little mind-game just the same as she had. And what part had _she_ played in all this? Not only had she encouraged this side of him out with her eager biting off more than she could chew, she’d caused him suffering as well, in her words and actions. Perhaps it was a tad presumptuous to think herself so deep an object of the Jem’Hadar’s affections, but subtle changes in the soldier’s expressions had conveyed to her just how clearly he disapproved of her growing acquiescent – even _eager –_ attitude towards Keevan. Guilt gnawed at her.

Lowering her eyes, she was silent for a moment and then sighed. "I am too," she lamented quietly.

There was so much she wanted to say to Remata’Klan now that they had time away from Keevan, so much she needed to communicate to him, and yet now that they had the chance the words wouldn’t come. Vera glanced back to him, suddenly gripped with the urge to fall in his arms, to seek solace in his strong embrace. Trembling with exertion and emotion, she shifted, hesitating as an ache rippled through her shoulders.

“...You could start making up for it by untying me.”

* * *

Vera’s tentative peace offering brought Remata’Klan’s frozen limbs back to life. He picked up the gel and rose from his kneeling position, relieved to have a clear course of action amidst the overarching uncertainty of their situation. He approached and sat next to her, untying her arms as quickly and carefully as he could. The rope had left angry red marks on her skin, as much in need of the regenerative gel as the rest of her body. The gel wouldn’t be able to help her with her sore throat though, he realized, dismayed.

Remata’Klan knew he should say something, take this rare opportunity to talk to her, offer whatever comfort he could, maybe explain himself… _No,_ there was no point in explaining. He did what he did and his words couldn’t change that. Actions were what truly mattered.

Guided by that sentiment, he squeezed a small amount of gel onto his palm and took Vera’s hand in his, taking care to keep his hold loose if for any reason she wanted to pull her arm away. Her chafed skin quickly absorbed the medicine as Remata’Klan rubbed the circulation back into the numb appendage.

Eventually, his gaze travelled from her arm to the rest of her body, taking note of the places most in need of healing. His eyes lingered on the dried blood on her inner thighs and a familiar wave of anger towards Keevan began rising in him again. Jem'Hadar were no strangers to brutality, even savagery in the heat of a battle, but this kind of casual, unprovoked cruelty was undoubtedly a staple of Vorta. Privately, Remata’Klan often lamented the Founders’ puzzling decision to put such a flawed race in charge of the Dominion. But then, it was only natural for the gods’ motives to be unfathomable to their servants.

Discarding this train of thought, the soldier turned his attention back to Vera. It occurred to him that some of her injuries needed cleaning before the gel could be efficiently used. And besides, she must have been eager to clean off the grime and the bodily fluids sticking to her skin. He stood from the cot and went to the other corner of the cell, returning in a few moments with a sponge and a small basin filled with water. After he put it down, Remata’Klan hesitated.

“Do you want me to help?” he asked, indicating the water and the sponge. From anyone else, the question might have sounded pitying, but Remata’Klan’s voice was even and earnest, with no trace of condescension.

* * *

The Universe itself had sent Remata’Klan here to see her through this. Monstrous as he’d become under duress, his tender, careful touch now had Vera’s eyes sliding shut, her heart fluttering in her chest, her breathing growing steady and deep – her bitterness at his previous actions melting away all but instantly. She hadn’t been prepared for how it would feel to have her hand in his again, and as she gazed down at her palm nearly fully encompassed within his large scaled fingers while he kneaded her arms, Vera tightened her grip on his hand.

Slowly, incrementally, she was beginning to feel like a human again.

The urge to pull herself into Remata’Klan’s arms was growing overwhelming, but overly conscious of how disgusting she was in her current state, Vera shoved the impulse down. When he rose to fill the basin and returned it to her, she sighed in relief at the prospect of getting clean, of putting this miserable ordeal behind her in a more tangible way.

Her hand had been halfway to the sponge when he made his offer, and, freezing, Vera gazed up at him.

“Yes,” she said simply after a moment, the word conveying more than just acquiescence – gratitude, awe, breathless disbelief.

As Remata’Klan attended her, Vera marvelled at the striking contrast between how readily she accepted his help and how swiftly she’d rejected Keevan’s. The Jem’Hadar could offer to feed her rippleberries right now she’d probably accept, just to continue feeling his gentle touch, sensing the care he so clearly genuinely felt for her.

A fresh wave of guilt washed over her at that thought. He was obviously as torn up about his actions toward her as she was about her own licentious behavior, and despite their precarious truce and eager reaching out for one another, the tension still hung thickly between them. It needed addressing.

“Remata’Klan,” she started, voice weak but earnest. One hand reached out to rest heavily against his upper arm. “I don’t blame you for what you did. Keevan has a talent for bringing out the worst in both of us.”

 _In both of us_ served as her own unspoken apology, the only thing she could manage to say under the weight of her own suffocating regret.

* * *

Remata’Klan’s hand holding the sponge froze, hovering over Vera’s collarbone. He met her eyes, conflict obvious in his expression.

“That’s no excuse. I should have been stronger. I shouldn’t have lost control like that.” He searched Vera’s face – looking for what, he wasn’t sure. What he found there was genuine forgiveness, and it floored him.

“But… I find myself unable to refuse your clemency.”

He took Vera’s hand and pressed his lips to her palm, his hearts beating stronger in a rush of emotion. _This is the reason such things are forbidden,_ he realized suddenly, but it was way too late to do anything about it. He could no more take back his feelings than survive without the White. Still, he had to say his piece.

"Next time, you might not be able to forgive me so easily," he continued in a thick voice. "I know Keevan. He's going to order me to hurt you again, and I cannot," he paused, having lost his voice for a moment, "I cannot disobey my orders.”

* * *

His lips on her palm were scorching, electrifying, and Vera found herself holding her breath as he kissed her soft skin, intensely focused on the point of connection between them. Color was rising to her cheeks – quite different than the blush of arousal that dusted them earlier. This warmth bled deep, like a drop of ink in water, sinking and spreading and hooking its aching tendrils right down into her heart.

She wished she wasn’t so defiled, that her mouth wasn’t foul with the lingering traces of all the bodily fluids that had traversed it over the course of the night; that was the only thing stopping her from leaning forward and connecting their lips, following the spark that was causing her heart to skip beats, her fingers to tremble. Carefully, she took her hand from Remata’Klan’s hold and glided it along his face, tenderly tracing each protruding spike along the edge of his jaw. Her eyes soaked in his expression of concern and dismay, raked over his scales as if committing them to memory, lingered on his lips.

It was a dangerous game, falling in love like this. But at the moment, Vera couldn’t bring herself to care.

“I know,” she consoled him, and tried to force down her anxiety at the inevitability of further violence at the Jem’Hadar’s unwilling hand. More than that, she felt a stabbing pang of sympathy and kinship for him, seeing with sudden, perfect clarity that he was just as much a slave to the Vorta as she was – though she for only a few days and he for all his life. How could she have been ever angry with him? Keevan had been momentarily successful at driving a wedge between them, at misdirecting her fear and resentment toward perhaps the one person in all Dominion space who didn't wish her harm. Vera decided she would _not_ allow that to happen again.

Her touch stilled on his face, holding him as she gazed into his eyes, cementing this moment to call upon later when she’d need it; her voice cracked and her face cringed with the effort of speaking through the pain, but she soldiered on with conviction.

“But so long as you keep helping me however you can, I’ll keep on forgiving you.”

* * *

Remata’Klan leaned his head into her hand, closing his eyes in pure enjoyment of her gentle touch. He never wanted for this feeling to end, longed to lay his head on her lap and let her hands caress his face, trace the ridges over his eyebrows, run her fingers through his hair… But this was no time and place to indulge in fanciful notions – Vera still needed healing; her injuries must have been causing her pain even as she was showing him this kindness.

Remembering himself, he returned to his task, wiping away the evidence of Vera’s ordeal from her skin. The soft sponge travelled over her delicate collarbones, down her arms and legs, with an especially light touch along her inner thighs. If only he could take away her painful memories of the last two days in the same fashion. Overcome with a strange tender emotion, he would sometimes press a light kiss to her knee, or her wrist as he worked. When he was done, he changed the water and let Vera wash her face.

Looking around the cell, he couldn’t find anything resembling a towel. Going to the replicator didn’t seem like a good idea, and anyway, the guards were specifically forbidden from replicating anything for the prisoner without the Vorta’s explicit permission. After a bit of thinking, Remata’Klan found an alternative. He quickly removed the upper part of his uniform and took off a thin undershirt, offering it to Vera in lieu of a towel. Then, he re-donned the remaining clothes and returned to his task. This little indulgence was sure to get him in trouble if Keevan found out about it, but really, that would hardly make any difference at this point.

He kneeled in front of Vera’s sitting figure, their difference in heights making it so that even in this position, their heads were almost on the same level, and began distributing the gel over the bruises scattered across her skin. The worst of her injuries, Remata’Klan knew, were on her qitha, but he suspected that after all the abuse she might be more comfortable taking care of those herself. He gave her the tube with the remaining medicine and tactfully retreated to empty the basin.

On the way there, Seventh Yak’Talon, whose unobtrusive presence in the cell he almost managed to forget, informed him that the next guard rotation was scheduled sooner than expected (no doubt, Keevan’s doing) and urged him to finish his task quickly. Of his comrades, Yak’Talon was always the quietest, and much like Remata’Klan, didn’t enjoy the kind of depraved entertainment that the Vorta liked to force upon his soldiers. With a grateful nod towards the other Jem’Hadar, Remata’Klan returned to Vera and informed her in so many words that their time together was coming to an end.

Unwilling to let this be it, he sat next to her and raised his hands to her cheeks, gently tilting her head up to meet his gaze. For a few seconds he just looked into her emerald eyes, memorizing every little speck of color in her irises. Then, slowly, giving her plenty of time to retreat if she so wished, he lowered his lips to hers.

* * *

He was thoughtful, and kind, and tender, and god _damnit_ she just wanted to lie across his broad chest and drift to sleep in his arms and never again wake up to the nightmare her life had so quickly become. Once finished gingerly drying herself with the shirt he’d given her, Vera clutched it as though it were sacred, reminiscent of all the garments she’d come by from past lovers – imbued with their scents, evoking their memories, swathing her in their absent embrace as they hung loosely off her form – but infinitely more meaningful than any gift she thought she'd ever received. Literally the shirt off his back.

It fell to her lap, however, forgotten entirely – along with the rest of the world – as Remata'Klan pressed his lips to hers.

The Jem'Hadar's kiss was the perfect antidote to Keevan’s poison. Far more deeply soothing than the balm that was healing her physical wounds, it caused her sunken heart to swell, lifted her despondent spirits dizzyingly high. 

_You’re an object,_ Keevan’s assault had convinced her. _A toy for me to abuse as I see fit._

 _You’re a person,_ countered Remata’Klan’s touch, _worthy of concern and gentleness and adoration._

He made a convincing argument.

Vera's arms wound tightly around the Jem’Hadar’s neck, pulling him closer, intent on keeping him pressed to her until the last possible moment. A surge of warmth coated the human as she felt his strong arms encircle her; melting into him completely, she responded to the kiss with a slow-burning passion, an intensity so soft and yet so fraught with emotion it seemed to hover like a physical thing in the air all around them, as tangible as the blanketing heat of a fire.

* * *

If asked, Remata’Klan wouldn’t be able to say how long their kiss had lasted. It felt like the time had stopped, and he only knew the heady feeling of Vera’s feather-soft human lips on his, the embrace of her graceful arms around his neck, her rapid pulse. He used to think that the sweetest, most satisfying thing in the world was victory. _Victory is life._ Yet, this simple act, this connection was imbued with so much meaning and such strong emotions that no victory could compare.

After an eternity that felt like a split-second, they broke the kiss. Distantly, through the sound of his own thundering heartbeat in his ears, Remata’Klan could already hear the approach of heavy footsteps – now, their time really was up. He lingered for as long as he could; then, steeling his resolve, he gently unwound Vera’s arms from around his neck and stood up. There was no need for words – their eyes perfectly communicated all that needed to be said, and so much more.

When the new guards arrived, Remata’Klan gave the two a nod and wordlessly stepped out of the cell, but not before turning his head over his shoulder to throw one last look at Vera. He left the security block a changed person.


End file.
